


The Fisher King

by KingpinCobblepot (Theonlylucysaxon)



Category: Gotham (TV)
Genre: M/M, Oral Sex, definitely a long fic, more sex to come prolly too, there will be more characters later
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-09-14
Updated: 2018-09-19
Packaged: 2019-07-12 02:44:27
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,818
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15985934
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Theonlylucysaxon/pseuds/KingpinCobblepot
Summary: Prince Oswald is the next in the line of succession of a string of blood monarchy entrusted to protect the Holy Grail. This is the story of how he allows his heart, his impulse, and his ambition to turn his kingdom to ash and his throne to not. The Arthurian Fisher King legend given origins in the form of a prince forced to choose between his duty and his desires.





	1. A Prince's Heart

“How sad you look, my poor darling.” The warm hands of the older woman rested on either side of the prince’s face. “So sad. So lost. Tell an old lady about your troubles, yes? Tell me what plagues my poor darling.” 

The soon-to-be king, Oswald sighed, smiling at her. Gertrud was not his mother. Not his relation in any capacity. But yet she had raised him. Been his nanny and nurse and maid and cook. His everything. His father was of course always there as well. A gentle, affectionate man. One who loved him deeply. But his mother, Grace… Well, she was… Herself, wasn’t she? And that was enough said. 

He had always wondered how it must be, to marry someone who so clearly didn’t really love you. As Grace clearly did not love Elijah. She considered him an obligation, a duty, a means to an end… An end which was somehow Oswald. As unloved as she seemed to look upon him, he was her obligation fulfilled. So was the way of their people. The king had to produce an heir and Grace had been the beautiful, fertile woman to do just that for King Elijah. So was born Oswald who was months away from ascending the throne and taking to task the protection of the holy grail from those unworthy enough to try and steal the precious treasure.

So was the duty of their people, and so was the duty of Prince Oswald Chesterfield of the monarchy Van’Dahl, entrusted heir and protector of the Chalice of Gods, the Holy Grail-- the soon to be the next king. 

“Oh nothing, dear  _ anya _ .” He murmurs to her and gently runs his hand down her shoulder as he leans in to kiss the forehead of the woman who raised him, using his affectionate nickname as always. 

“Ah, you lie to me, my dear prince.” She tsked and waved her finger in his face before moving away with a sigh. “I know what it is that weighs on your poor heart. It is the Lady Sofia. The one who was chosen to be your bride. She was here this morning, no? She did not please you, I suspect.” As she spoke, she began to ready the fire there in his bedroom as the evening chill had set in. 

Oswald was glad for her distraction because he blushed deeply and with profound embarrassment. Gertrud knew as only she could know. Such a marriage was everything Oswald never wanted and yet here he was. Forced into it. Being made to do something that was abhorrent to him. 

“It matters little, what I feel, anya. I have to marry her. It is all I have ever been raised to do. The only sacrifice my kingdom asks of me.” Even as he speaks, it feels like lies. Like empty words he parrots and doesn’t mean. 

“Ah, my sweet boy.” She moves back to gently embrace him. “If only you were so peaceful as you claim.” Is all she says before slipping away and out the door. Oswald watches her leave and feels a soft sadness. If he cannot fool her, what hope has he of fooling himself? Such notions fade quickly though when he considers the time. Dinner finished a good while ago, and Oswald knew his soon to be arriving company would have finished his obligations by now. 

He pulls off his boots as he sits on the side of the bed and places them within his wardrobe along with his breeches and tunic of the day. Such a strange notion, but he hates to see the man with the stenches of the day upon him. He far prefers to be fresh. And so he washes his face in the basin of water and splashes rose water on his neck and a little beneath each of his ars before pulling on the fresh, crisp white tunic. Then he moves to the dressing table to light the extra candles and offer more light still into the room even as the fireplace roars. He likes as much light as possible-- for if they cannot have one another in the brightness of day then he will all the same share his time seeing every detail of the other. 

It is as he is straightening the little bouquet of flowers he had collected only this morning as he walked the gardens with his betrothed, enduring idle gossip and chat, that the door behind him opens. 

Oswald decides to play a little and keep his eyes fixed on what he does. This of course, only compels his guest to shut the door, locking it as he does so, and to move closer behind Oswald-- trailing a hand up his spine. 

“I missed you today.” Comes the all too familiar voice of Edward Nygma. The kingdom adviser and the only lover the prince had ever known. He speaks softly, in a tone that is utterly tender and lilts into Oswald’s ear as the dark haired man gently nuzzles against him.

They’ve been doing this for months now, since the tender friendship they shared over the years slowly blossomed into this. Into everything. Stolen touches, hushed moments, sneaking and hiding and constantly longing for one another. This was the love Oswald was never supposed to have known and yet he had found it without trying. Edward Nygma had just… happened to him. 

“Edward.” He says the name with a grin on his lips as Ed is already trailing his lips along Oswald’s neck and dancing fingers barely brushing against bare thighs beneath his tunic. “I missed you as well.” Came the softest exhale as the prince let those oh so hedonistic tendencies take over, his head tilting back as he reveled in the sensation of being worshipped by his lover’s mouth. He turned in his arms soon and let Ed gather up the hem of his tunic as he lifted him up to sit on the dressing table. Then came kissing. Proper kissing. Something Oswald had never intended to endeavor enjoyment from with anyone. He had been kissed plenty in his life. Both platonically by soft caretakers like his father or Gertrud, and even his mother in rare moments, and romantically, by desperate maidens seeking favor and even by a guard once when the young prince had tried his very best effort at actually flirting with the man. 

None had been truly enjoyable. The girls were all very sweet and their mouths were soft but too pliant, too forgiving, too desperate to please the would be king. And the guard… He had been handsome but far too unforgiving. Too forceful. A man insistent again on proving something and it made the whole experience unpleasant. Then came Edward. Oswald had kissed him on a whim of impulse because after weeks of skirting flirtatious moments and trying to get the young scholar’s attention, there had been little more than little blushes and tiny smiles to be offered. Edward was clearly not going to initiate anything and Oswald wanted his interest understood. And so he kissed him. 

And Edward had been… Well, soft. In a gentle, affectionate sort of way. But his mouth was all the same receptive, responsive, as hungry for Oswald as Oswald found himself hungry for Edward. He wasn’t very practiced, though as Oswald discovered in their months of  dalliances, he was a fast learner. Their tongues brushed against one anothers, and much like now-- Oswald couldn’t pull himself away. There was something remarkably addictive about the way it felt to taste Ed. To touch him. To hold him. 

“Mmmm….” He breathed and pulled back as he looked into Edward’s eyes with a soft look of pleading. Edward knew what he craved. What he often craved after their long days apart and he smiled at him mischievously as he guided the fabric of his tunic above his head and discarded it on the stone floor. Oswald was already hard. Having Edward invade his personal space, crowd him, press into him, engulf him… It was all just too much. And his arousal was plain and where at one time, he felt embarrassment to be so bare before the other man-- now he only felt needier. Hungrier for him and he reached out to gently undo Edward’s breeches, only to have his hands pushed away, making the prince shoot his lover a very questioning look. 

“Not yet, your majesty.” He smirked and Oswald, pouted a little immediately. “So spoiled is royalty.” Came an additional taunt from Edward as he began to lower his head and kiss along Oswald’s chest. He would have protested the jest made by the taller man, but the prince was too desperate to complain as he was offered the erotic contact of Edward’s lips against his nipple. And then the other. And then down along his stomach. Kisses turned to suckling which turned to gentle bites, teeth scraping skin and leaving a reddened bath down Oswald’s torso as his fingers tangled in Edward’s curls and soon enough Edward knelt down before Oswald to begin to rest hands on his thighs and press a feather light kiss to the tip of his already aching length. 

“Please.” Oswald gasps and it’s utterly in earnest. Edward revels in this. The control he holds over the one day ruler of their land. It is in this intimacy, he knows the future king belongs to him. Entirely. Completely. And despite Oswald’s pride, his power, his ambition--- it’s true. He would offer the world to Edward in this sort of moment. Edward, who introduced to Oswald a type of pleasure he had never known before. A pleasure he didn’t even believe he could feel. And he was so beautiful. So perfect. So… So very much everything. 

And for all that Oswald may belong to Edward?

Edward certainly belongs to Oswald. 

Which is why after a few tugs of his hair and whined pleas, Edward gives in and lets the charade of teasing fall. He is as eager to take Oswald into his mouth as the young royal is to be taken, wrapping his lips around the head and swirling his tongue against the sensitive skin making Oswald shudder and arch against him. With a few testing bobs of his head, the taller man is soon taking Oswald down with minimal effort. Enjoying the familiar feeling, the familiar taste, and more over than anything-- the contact of his dark gaze with those hooded, sea green lust filled eyes. Oswald looks at him as though Edward is all that exists-- and were the man able to see inside his heart, he would know that to be true. 

Edward is everything. 

Oswald spends his days, bathed in the disappointed pining to be with him. To see him. To speak to him. And when they are together, all Oswald can feel is the joy that the rest of his day seems to deny him. It was why he worked to get Edward the job as an adviser to his father, so that he could live at court and their time together could be more frequent, more  accessible. So he could easily sneak to the prince every eveningtide and share his bed and his company in those glorious moments where their love can be disguised by the nightfall. Hidden in darkness. Shrouded by moonlight. Alive only in the hours when it’s just them, the rest of the castle-- of the kingdom turning in for the night and giving no thought to what the man who should one day be king is doing… Is thinking. 

He can hardly help the thoughts either. Because such pleasure as Edward offers him physically, transcends their bodies. It reaches his soul. Edward’s love seeps inside him and envelops him and ends the searching, probing questions that Oswald had once always asked and wondered. Being loved in such a way, such a pure and sincere way, which accepts him for his own darkness and challenges him to not always be better but to be at least always different, always evolving, always learning, always trying so hard to understand the mystery of his aptly named enigmatic lover… All while knowing that he is loved not in spite of the horrible things he has done and is so very comfortable doing, but because of them. Because they are a part of him-- a twisted piece of his soul which finds in Edward a twisted piece of kindred spirit and latches on tightly to the knowledge neither is alone in the world… It clouds his mind. It drives him always to not just madness, but the overwhelming notion of throwing away everything for Edward. 

Running away with him. 

Taking whatever punishment god could see fit for his shirking of his responsibilities to his family and throne. 

Doing whatever might be necessary to cling to the man with the soft mouth and dark eyes who kneels before him now with drool edging his lips and a look of desperate need clouding his face. 

Keeping Edward Nygma at every cost. 

Soon his thoughts though, as certain and yet terrifying as they may be are pushed aside as his body can no longer hold back and he gives a final breathy moan of Edward’s name to punctuate his series of incoherent pleasure noises, tugging at his hair and spilling inside his mouth. Edward swallows diligently as always and then stands, kissing up Oswald’s chest and giving the softest kiss to his lips, pressing his forehead against Oswald’s. 

“Have you bathed yet?” 


	2. A Kind Lie

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> ANGST abound.

“Have you bathed yet?” He breathes against Oswald’s nose,causing his prince’s eyes to flicker open. Edward had never shut his. No, he had spent the moment of quiet between them studying the prince’s face. Every fine detail. Learning it, tracing the lines of his cheekbones with his eyes and counting his freckles with an eidetic memory. He knows their time together is ending soon. He knows in a few weeks, Oswald will be married. He knows this will be over. 

It hurts to think about, so for the most part Edward just doesn’t. He never has. If he had for even a moment given their arrangement real thought, then they wouldn’t be here. He would never have let things get to here if he had been thinking clearly. It was amongst the single responsibilities to his position that Oswald should marry a woman and produce an heir. It wasn’t new information and it came as no shock to anyone. This was how it had been done for over five centuries. Every monarch since the kingdom’s lakeside inception. Every single king and queen, since the first who was given the grail and told his blood line would be gifted with this land, these people to rule, this power to always prosper and never to suffer famine or war or plight, so long as they continued to protect the grail. 

Oswald was no different than his ancestors objectively, and much as they each had sacrificed the possibility of love  to marry for obligation, so would Oswald. He would marry Lady Sofia Falcone, a beautiful young woman said to be blessed by their local priest and guaranteed by the physician to be a healthy, vibrant, fertile young lady. Capable of producing the child Oswald had to give life to. 

This was all determined by fate, well before either of them had been born. None of this was fair, but it was all predetermined. How it all HAD to be. None of it by choice. All of it by destiny, and were he the truly clever, brilliant man he believed himself to be, then Edward never would have allowed things to come to this. Never would would have made the decision to come to him on that first night under the cover of starlight to discover one another’s bodies and intimacy and pleasures....

“No… Would you join me?” Those eyes… So blue, so green, so deep stare up at Edward imploringly. 

No. 

Ed had no choice. Not really, and he hadn’t been thinking at all. He just let it all slip away and had acted with his heart, thought falling away and giving in to the sweet surrender of love. True love. Epic poem inspiring love. Love that consumes and engulfs, like flames licking at the core of his body. Prince Oswald can consume him. His love, his lust, his need all threaten to overcome Edward and oh what a sweet release it would be to be taken over by something as beautiful and rare as what the pair of them have between them. 

“Of course, my prince. Is it not my duty as your loyal subject to ensure your every desire is met?” He teases Oswald and kisses his ear lobe gently. Oswald laughs in return and the sound itself is melodic and breath-taking. 

“You aren’t my subject, Edward.” he murmured with a smirk and guided the taller back into yet another small kiss. “You’re my lover.” He relished the word, and Edward could see it. He relished in it as well. It was so profoundly touching, moving-- sweet and tender and yet offering itself to the sweet ache of lechery that just tinged the syllables. Particularly as the taste of Oswald’s seed still rested on Edward’s tongue and the sound of his climax still ringing in his ears. 

“Very well then, lover.” he adjusted his glasses a bit and smiled at Oswald. “I would be even more honored to join you in the bath.” He teases and moves to help the shorter man stand up and make his way to the tub near the fireplace, sitting still full of hot water and yet to be used. 

It takes a moment for Edward to strip, and Oswald takes the chance to get comfortable in the tub and watch the process as unabashedly as ever. While the prince had certainly lost his hesitations about when and how to indulge in looking at or noticing the other man, Edward still felt a good bit of shyness and worried often about his beloved noticing the many scars which littered his torso-- from eons ago it felt like. Back when he resided in another kingdom entirely and had been lynched when discovered with another man in bed. The wounds healed in another lifetime, and only the dark echoes of them remain. But it is enough. It screams of the horrors Edward has faced and survived and it speaks to the insecurity that blooms inside of him because he is a flawed, average, scarred person and the man he loves… The man he is unsure he can live without is perfect. 

Soon he joins  him in the tub though and Oswald has the remarkable pleasure of Edward’s arms around him, his nose nuzzling against the soft skin of Oswald’s neck. Amongst his people the prince is arguably considered both strikingly handsome and remarkably homely, and between the two seems to be a certain decided polarity of view. No middle ground. Edward, certainly can’t understand such an idea though, because to him there is no question. The prince is the single most attractive and remarkable looking person he has ever yet known. 

His hands brush soap along Oswald’s stomach and searching fingers scrub the nonexistent dirt from his skin. While true it is not an easy thing to remain so well kept even in the palace walls, Oswald does so in a remarkable sort of way. It’s one of the many things Edward loves about him… Yes, loves. In abundance. In a painfully overwhelming sort of way. It threatens to consume all his soul in some moments and the taller man rather thinks he might allow it if he believed such a thing would please his one day king. 

And perhaps… Perhaps it would. 

But at present, the heir himself lets his body sink against his lover, his head tilting back and his hands running behind his back to brush Edward’s thighs. 

“Are you in need of something, my prince?” Comes that all too familiar voice that is drenched in smugness as he kisses along his neck. “I must say if you need me again so soon, I worry I might be doing my job poorly.” 

Oswald laughs and blushes and though his lover cannot see it, Edward knows it’s there and the thrill such a notion gives him is enough to make his heart beat a little faster. There is something so… scandalous in being allowed to flirt so openly with someone in any regard, let along his very monarch. Besides which, knowing that Oswald always takes pleasure in his teasing is enough to make the praise starved man want to bask in his accomplishment. 

“Quite the contrary, Mr. Nygma… If I desire you again so soon, it would only speak to the addictive nature of your touch.” When Oswald speaks, his words are hushed and soft and breathed as he leans back to kiss Edward’s earlobe softly. “But regardless… I am not in the mood for such a thing at the moment. Not actively at least. As always, if you desire something, I am quite easily persuaded to oblige.” He grinned and this time it was Edward’s turn to blush. 

This had been a point of contest in their affair which only as of recent came to be settled. Edward, as the man of a lesser power between them and a distinctly more passive view of himself all together had to be… Taught, perhaps would be the best word, to voice his desires. His needs. His cravings. Oswald theorized he had only been with women before, selfish women at that who took the pleasure he was remarkably eager at giving-- if a little inexperienced, although a quick study all together. They must have taken what he gave and asked nothing in return. A strange notion to Oswald, as his most profound enjoyment of Edward in his bedchamber came from the ability to make fall apart. 

To make him climax, to make him keen, to make his eyes rollback as his voice went hoarse and he huffed the words and muttered gasps of begging for more still and more. 

Oswald was baffled at the thought of someone not having always enjoyed that when given the privilege of sharing an evening of intimacy with his Edward. All the same, perhaps he were grateful truly for it. It meant Edward always looked at him with eyes of amazed wonder when Oswald gave him the pleasure which was so deliciously satisfying to give. 

Where it had once been a struggle though, now Oswald earned his honesty and such as now, Edward gave a bashful nod and a breathy ‘yes’ signalling the prince of the intimacy he desired.

…

Oswald gave him pleasure once more, and then they bathed in semi-earnest and discussed their days respectively. It was always easier for the men to talk when they felt less touch starved for the other. Long days apart and having to always hide their true feelings left them hungry for one another when finally allowed the company of the other, but in truth it is not simply sexual needs which drew them into one another. 

No, it is something far, far greater than that. 

Oswald had known he loved Edward in a way which was not at all the sort of story of fairy tales. It was not the noble salvation of a forlorn heart, it was not some knight-like accomplishment of bravery or strength, Edward in fact had been beaten quite badly by a soldier at court. The incident itself had mounted as many had in his early days as a visiting scholar and close friend of the prince. People were jealous in Oswald’s opinion, but it had also been pointed out by Gertrud on more than one occasion that Edward could be… grating for some people. His personality was far from amenable to many and several of his fellow men in particular found the strange tall fellow off-putting. Whatever had caused the altercation, the prince had rushed to his friend’s side all the same and insisted punishment be sought against the soldier-- privately for daring to touch someone who mattered so much to the prince-- publically for the fact he had attacked an unarmed civilian using a sense of force that was unnecessary and unwarranted. 

Oswald had tended his wounds on that evening, and gently washed his bruised face while personally pouring his tea. Edward pointed out how honored he felt. To be taken care of by the man who had everyone in the kingdom to take care of him. 

That’s when it occurred to the prince. He had never cared for anyone. Never. He had never wanted to either. For the most part, he saw the world as there for his needs and his wants, a universe which had always accommodated a hedonistic sort of life fueled by selfish desires which by birthright he was entitled to. 

And yet…

Well, he could have any servant do these things for Edward. Or Edward could indeed do them himself. He was not so injured as to require help even. But Oswald… wanted to help him. He wanted to soothe him and tend his wounds and serve his tea. He wanted to take care of him. Not with any manipulation in mind, not even with a good reason of needing future favor. The man had nothing to offer but friendship which was at no great stake were he to simply not act as he did. No. It was something inside of Oswald that craved this sort of aid to the man. His friend. His  _ best _ friend.

That was when he realized he loved him. 

Now they lay together in bed after having played a late night game of chess, talking over at length far too many well worn topics, and falling into bed only to have kissed for a long while. Just soft, deep kisses which both men tend to enjoy in the laziness of nightfall just before they fall asleep. Tangled in one another’s arms, with Oswald holding Edward who rests his head on Oswald’s chest. It is serene and quiet, and feels almost content. 

They both avoided the topic so beautifully and Oswald almost hopes he can find sleep before--

“Was she beautiful?” His voice is small, measured. Not particularly inflected with emotion but more sparked by that same curious tone with which Edward approaches anything.

He doesn’t have to ask who. He knows. They both know. Today he met the woman he is to marry, and so came the beginning to the end of them. They both know it. They both… feel it. 

“I suppose perhaps. To a man who saw beauty in women.” Oswald muses and traces his fingers along Edward’s spine lovingly in the dimming light of the fireplace. 

“And you do not see beauty in women?” Edward sounds almost sarcastic as he as he furrows his brows. 

“I do not see beauty in anyone but you.” The answer earns him a huff of derision, but also causes Edward to tighten his arms around the prince’s torso in a momentary squeeze of embrace. He inhales deeply before asking another question still. 

“Will we still be friends when this is gone..? I know it will be difficult to… To stop this. To not… But I do hope not to lose your friendship, your majesty.” This time emotion creeps in and it’s Oswald who squeezes him. 

“You are my best friend, Edward. My lover, my soul mate. My hearts very reason for beating. I will always be your friend.” He murmurs the soft words against the lose curls of Edward’s hair as he kisses his head. There is a small pause before, “And you know… I wouldn’t go through with it if you asked it of me.”

Edward lifts up suddenly to focus a curious almost defensive look at Oswald as he is certain such a statement is a joke or lie of some description. And yet his face falls into awe as he sees the earnestness with which the prince offers not only his heart, but everything that he has ever known and lived for. 

“Do you….?” Oswald’s tone is vulnerable and soft. “Ask it of me, Edward…?”

He is frightened of such an offer, and while he makes it in utter sincerity, there is such a tinge of true worry over what such a promise might bring when fulfilled. It breaks Edward’s heart to see and hear, but even more over to respond as he must. 

“Of course not, my prince.” His hand reaches out to soothingly touch Oswald’s cheek. “Your friendship will always be enough for me.” Edward thinks it a kinder lie than the truth and kisses Oswald softly-- leading the two back into the languid sort of kissing that will precede their sleep for the night. 

**Author's Note:**

> Okay so if you haven't noticed, I made a few changes to suit this AU:
> 
> -Gertrud is no longer Oswald's biological mother. But she did raise him all the same. 
> 
> -His last name as a result is Vah Dahl. 
> 
> -Sasha and Charles will later feature as full blood siblings raised in the shadow of the would be king, and given more care from their mother than Oswald ever got. 
> 
> Buckle up loves, this is going to be a long ass journey to the finish of this fic.


End file.
